Alien in the House

most A-Cs went with the idea that said someone deserved to be Poof Chow. There was polite mourning and then everyone went on about their business. I chose to never argue when my alien relatives by marriage had some whacked out belief that meant they didn’t hate me.
    Of course, most of the A-Cs had no idea what had happened to said former Diplomatic Corps—though I was sure some had a good guess. The party line was that they’d disappeared and we were still searching for them.
    However, Doreen had certainly deserved to know what had happened to her parents. That the Poofs had agreed to chow down had given her a reason to not feel guilty for not feeling bad that her parents were dead. We were all about the silver linings these days.
    Doreen had just finished reminding us that smiling and nodding were great, but laughing at bad jokes was better, Pierre had reminded us that our New World Order had created some happy politicians and some tense ones, and Reader had just finished up stressing how the politicians from our home states were probably the most vital to keep happy, when the doorbell rang.
    “Places, everyone,” Pierre said. “It’s show time.”
    Walter, who was, as always, on the com, turned on my music mix. The happy sounds of “Party Rock Anthem” by LMFAO met my ears.
    “Really?” Jeff asked.
    “You all said I should create a tasteful party mixtape.”
    Jeff looked at Pierre. Who shrugged. “I’ve learned, Jeff darling, to let Kitty win on the musical choices.”
    While Jeff grunted and muttered something about classical music and why it was good, Len and Kyle went with Pierre to station themselves as our Embassy’s bouncers. Of course, they were bouncers with all the special C.I.A. toys that allowed them to easily spot bugs, hidden firearms, and other pleasantries.
    Jeff and I headed to what we called the small salon. As the Co-Head Diplomats, we had the job of initial paw shaking and such. Once our guests had been properly greeted, Pierre led them into the dining room, which had been converted into a cocktail party area, albeit without the cocktails. A-Cs being deathly allergic to alcohol meant we were a teetotaler nation, and because we were on our own land in the Embassy, we enforced that rule as a “religious custom.”
    Happily, Pierre brought in the most welcome guests—my parents.
    “You didn’t take a gate?” I asked as I hugged my father, who was in a nicer suit than he normally wore. Appreciated him dressing up for the occasion.
    “No, kitten. Your mother felt it would better if we were seen arriving.”
    “Just glad you’re both already here, Sol,” Jeff said as he let go of Mom and hugged Dad. “Always nicer when you and Angela are with us.” He meant it, too. I’d truly married a great guy, and my parents agreed.
    I got my mother’s breath-stopping bear hug. “You look perfect, kitten.”
    “Thanks, Mom. Air . . . need the air.”
    She released with a laugh. “Sorry. Just been a long week.”
    “I’ll bet.” I studied her. She was in a simple black velvet dress that looked great on her. But Mom normally didn’t hit me with the bear hugs unless one of us had been in extreme danger prior. “What were you working on?”
    She grimaced. “Can’t tell you. But, happily, that’s because it doesn’t involve any of you.”
    “Well, that’s good.” I hugged her again, praying the whatever that didn’t involve any of us had nothing to do with the Dingo. “Glad you made it through safely, Mom, whatever it was,” I whispered in her ear.
    Got another bear hug, but this one was shorter. “Me too.”
    “I do hate to break up the mother and child reunion,” Pierre said. “But more guests are coming, and I believe Angela and Sol have assigned duties.”
    “We do,” Dad said. “Lead on, and we’ll get to work.”
    Pierre and my parents headed off as the doorbell rang again. It was going to be a long night.
    Unsurprisingly, our nearest neighbors were the next to arrive, in part because most of them had walked across or down the street. By now we knew most of them, and Pierre had a laundry list of their quirks, habits, and dislikes, as well as who was cheating on and with whom.
    When we’d first moved to D.C. I’d been forced into the Washington Wife class. I’d hated every moment of it, but, shocking one and all, I’d actually picked up some tips and decorum along the way.
    Therefore, I did all the greetings to foreign dignitaries properly. Oh sure, not